The restless surgings of man's inner soul are invisible to all eyes, save God's, and silence is not always a proof that everyone is asleep.

Jake lay on a bag of dried leaves, having given his own bunk to his guests.
But his eyes refused to sleep.

The music of the katydids had lost its power to soothe his troubled breast and bring him sweet repose.

His mind took a voyage over the past.

Memory, according to her wonted ways carried him again to his mother's knee.